Harry Potter and the Soul of the Hero

Harry Potter and the Soul of the Hero

Chapter 7 - No Rest for the Damned

So now is grandeur to our dust,
So near is God to man.
When duty whispers low,
Thou must,
The youth replies,
I can.

~~Ralph Waldo Emerson

DEATH EATER SKIRMISH IN MANCHESTER
UNKNOWN GROUP THWARTS ATTACK!

Special Correspondent Ian Lighterman

In the early hours of this morning, June 2^nd, five
masked Death Eaters were apprehended by a group
of unknown vigilantes, whilst they attempted to destroy the
townhouse of one of the most influential wizards on
the Wizengamot, Lord Arnold Echard.

This is the first move made in the war by the forces
of the Dark Lord since the attack on Hogsmeade two
months ago, and it ended in victory for the light. The
unknown group of wizards and witches who stopped the
attack, defending Lord Echard with their lives, fled
the scene soon after the attack, leaving behind no clues
as to their identities - and many questions.

Lord Echard offers his thanks to these heroes, and bids
them to come forward , but understands if they would
rather remain anonymous. The Ministry has no comment
on the mysterious group.

This attack begs the question though, is our war heating up
again? Are we prepared? Or will we see more attacks like
the one this morning, with only silent heroes to defend
us? Where were the Aurors?

There was no comment from the Ministry.

Harry read the paper with a pensive look on his face early that Monday morning, over his bowl of cornflakes. He had been looking and examining a lot of things with a pensive look over the last few days. This morning, just after getting out of the shower, he had felt the first stab of pain in his scar that he could remember in years. Voldemort had been angry, and this was probably why. It made Harry smile.

Remus, Ron, Hermione, Tonks, Mundungus, and Mrs Weasley were all at the table as well that morning. Ginny was at Hogwarts for her final OWL exams, and after today would not need to go back until her sixth year began. They all got an extra two weeks of holiday, something Harry intended to use wisely.

He had been inactive for a week, which was far too long. That said, he had only regained his memory ten days ago - but then there was no rest, no rest for the wicked.

Or the damned, Ethan mumbled.

Harry laughed and earned himself a few weird looks from around the table. Too true, he told Ethan, still chuckling.

"You didn't have anything to do with that rescue, did you, Harry?" Remus asked, pointing to the newspaper in Harry's hand.

Harry shook his head. "No, I slept through the night. Good to see someone is doing something though - the Ministry can't be everywhere."

No it couldn't... who were these strangers who would defy Voldemort, who had knowledge on Death Eater attacks. Was it possible one of them was a Death Eater spy, working against the Dark Lord? Harry didn't know, but it was very interesting, and worth thinking more about if he was going to take charge in this war.

Perhaps he had more allies than he knew....

"Can we still go to Diagon Alley tomorrow?" Ron asked, directing his question towards his mother.

It was something Harry had brought up last night, before going to bed. A trip into the wizarding market. He needed a few things, the least of all checking out his accounts at Gringotts. Though, he was beginning to plan something... big... he needed to appear complacent with Dumbledore and the Order - so he had asked, and they had agreed, so long as a guard of five went along.

You shouldn't have to be complacent, Ethan whispered. You are the Darkslayer and the world should kneel to you.

"I suppose so," Molly Weasley sighed. "But Dumbledore will want to increase the guard if the attacks are starting up again. We can't be relying on strangers to protect us all the time. Your father is working too hard at the Ministry though...." she trailed away with a frown.

Harry had not seen Mr Weasley at all since his return, but he had read about him in the Prophet. It seemed he was still working hard to fix the mistakes that Fudge had made months ago, before his death, and was only now turning towards building the defences of the nation higher. There had been speculation that the Ministry knew where Voldemort was hiding, but no move had been made against him out of fear.

Harry didn't think that was true, although he did know where Voldemort was hiding, or at least had a good idea. Slytherin Fortress. Hidden in a pocket of time one thousand years ago and accessible only through a portal stone on the side of a mountain in Glencoe near Loch Leven.

If he was there, Harry was happy to let him rot for now. It was better to know where he was and do nothing for now, than alert him that he knew, and lose that knowledge. It was all a tentative balance, a graver game than any he had played before, but he was doing his best - the scrolls and plans in his sealed trunk were enough to prove that.

"What'd you reckon, Harry?" Ron asked. "Quidditch store first up? Or ice cream?"

Harry shrugged, and swirled around the last of his soggy cornflakes with his spoon. "How about we get an ice cream and take it to the Quidditch shop?"

Ron smiled. "Man's a thinker, I've always said that."

"You boys," Hermione tsked. "We will of course be going to Flourish and Blotts. The NEWT study guide recommends secondary texts for all our courses an--"

"Stop right there," Ron said, raising his hand. "You - are - on - holiday," he stressed, stretching each word. Hermione just smiled.

They all bantered back and forth for a bit, happily, friendly - they were friends. Discussing topics that had no bearing on the war, or their roles in it. Staying out of troubled waters while they could. Harry enjoyed it, even though he knew it could never last.

War was coming for him again, but this time he meant to meet it head on - alone and powerless if needs be. Guns (or arms) blazing if not.

*~*~*~*

In the afternoon on that Monday, Harry found himself sorting through the contents of his trunk alone in his room. He hid the scrolls of knowledge under invisibility charms, something he had taught himself many years ago. It wasn't really making them invisible, but bending light around them. It was certainly complicated, but he could do it to anything now - even himself.

What he was looking for, underneath all of the clothes, old school books and odd bits of paraphernalia, was a portfolio the goblins had given him when he and Remus had gone to Sirius' will reading at the bank a few months ago, or decades depending on which way he looked at it. Sometimes it was hard to discern between the two.

He eventually found it under some cloaks and pulled it out, sitting on the bed with it. Undoing the bindings, he removed the thin parchment sheets from within and read them carefully, taking note of his financial statements, share prices, and property management forms. Some of the sheets were charmed to automatically update when the stock market changed.

He had 10,000 shares in Bertie Botts Confectionary, which were worth eleven and a half galleons each, which was 115,000 galleons gold, and 10,000 shares in Nimbus worth seventeen galleons each - 170,000.

In the bank in terms of funds, in clear currency able to withdraw, he had twenty one and a half million galleons, three million four hundred and ninety seven sickles, and seven hundred thousand knuts. Would it be enough for what he had begun to plan? Time would, again, tell.

There were Black housing estates all over the globe, which was a very small place, he thought, such as in France, Australia, North America and Germany. There were pictures of them, and the one in Australia looked quite big - spacious. Would it do for what, after seeing that newspaper this morning, he had begun to plan?

It all came back to time.

Harry noticed on his financial statement, a cream coloured piece of parchment with swirling script in black ink, that the interest he had earned on his money in the last two months was astronomical. Compiling all his assets that the bank used, not to mention the amount of cash he had, they had paid him three hundred thousand galleons for its use. On each month since he had been gone the simple interest had added six hundred thousand galleons to his total balance.

Nodding, Harry filed away all the papers and placed the portfolio back in his trunk, sealing it tight. It would have to be enough... that estate in Australia would be big enough if Dumbledore didn't see the light soon. He'd approach him again before proceeding with the vague plan he had thought of that day... it would be a lot, lot harder if he had to do it on his own.

Harder's good, Ethan said, and for once he startled Harry.

What do you mean?

"Harder," Ethan repeated, standing in the doorway before Harry in a long black robe. His eyes were sparkling and his brown hair hung feathered down his neck. "You always excel when things are harder, Potter."

Harry stepped through him and out into the hall. "Perhaps," he replied.

Back in his head: You're a centre for change, Harry - the Boy Who Lived. Perhaps you weren't supposed to live, and now everything you do effects the world in ways it wouldn't have been otherwise. No matter, you are change. How much will you change before the end? How much will be left to change?

Harry waved his hand angrily before his face as he walked, as if to swat Ethan away. The disembodied soul had way too much thinking time on his hands. The voice died down but he could still feel his presence in his mind. It was past time to get him out of there - he had promised Ethan a century ago he would, but he didn't even know where to start with that.

Sighing heavily, Harry held it all together for another moment and then moved onto the next. The strain of everything he carried was heavy, oh so heavy, but he managed - had always managed. His hands were shaking once again.

On the edge of his mind, he heard the grandfather clock in the hall ticking away precious seconds almost mockingly.

*~*~*~*

?

The Boundary had been decimated with the conflict between the Guardians and the Destroyers showing no sign of ending, and every sign of worsening. Littering the vast emptiness of this out-world, corpses of pure energy pulsed with their dying light, both bright light and dark light.

Millions of souls, again both light and dark, faded away on the wind out of existence, never to be seen nor heard of again this side of death. Holes and tears, rips and burns, had once again appeared in the fabric, and for the first time in memory, ever, the Guardians had been able to return to the mortal worlds, or to the Higher realms.

The Destroyers had come as well, and many worlds had been scoured in their war that spilled to all corners of Existence. Godric Gryffindor, in human form, stood once again at the front lines of a large army for creatures both amazing and wonderful.

In one form or another, Gryffindor had existed for one thousand and eighty two years, had memory for those years, but never had he faced a war on this scale of destruction. There were humans in the army he had been forced to take command of, humans who were really guardians, but had been able to take on their original forms outside of the Boundary. There were also creatures not so human, but it didn't matter - they all fought for the Light.

The Destroyers were another matter, all dark and ruined husks of men and monsters. Powerful though, very powerful. Every world or realm they destroyed or enslaved added to that power and they were fast becoming a threat to the overall Balance of Light and Dark. It was all unravelling, the threads of reality and existence - Gryffindor could feel it, as could all the Guardians. It was their duty to protect it after all, and in that they were failing.

Surveying this ruined world, one that still burned, with his piercing green eyes and scarred cheek, Gryffindor spotted the rising mass of darkness on the horizon, saw how light seemed to bend away from it. He readied his forces. The war was his to command, but his army was spread across billions upon billions of worlds and levels of existence. There would be battles he would never hear of for millennia.

Sending up a silent prayer to the Creator he was never sure had ever been there, Gryffindor prayed for a way out, a way to end it and restore the Balance. He had nothing, could see no way... but what of Harry Potter?

Never, in his wildest dreams, had Gryffindor imagined that when he had founded Hogwarts it would one day lead here, that he would end up here after death. He had never truly died, but would if he did now. Guardians were given a choice to become so just a moment before death, and he had chosen this - eternal life, but not immortality.

"Your orders, Guardian Gryffindor?" a being on his right asked. A yellow, vaguely human form with three eyes and four hearts, seven fingers on each hand. None of that mattered of course - they all fought for the same thing.

"Engage them, take no prisoners - destroy the Destroyers."

The charge went ahead but Gryffindor's thoughts were elsewhere, with Harry Potter. Something told him that boy held... the key, to it all. But then again what could the boy do now? It would take centuries of conflict to end this war.

*~*~*~*

Diagon Alley was really no different to Harry's memory of the place, save for a few small details like the locations of the shops and the Auror guard on every other corner and shop door.

Holding Ginny's hand, he walked next to Ron and Hermione down the street, which was rather busy. Out of the corner of his eye Harry could see their Order guard, some older members and a few new recruits, but he wasn't supposed to be able to see them. Ten, he counted, ten members following them.

There were plain clothed Aurors in the crowd as well, but Harry also picked them out with ease. He could sense a fighting man or woman almost instinctively, and saw the way they held themselves, the more than curious glances they gave everyone, and the wand holsters they hid underneath their robes. It all sent a positive message, he thought....

Unless Voldemort came with them, Death Eaters would be mad to attack this place again. It was too well defended - and crowded.

Had Harry looked like himself, the four of them may have encountered trouble as soon as they had entered the Leaky Cauldron, but as it was he now had shoulder length brown hair - a fringe that covered his scar, which refused transfiguration - blue eyes hidden underneath silver anti flash sunglasses, and was dressed in simple jeans and a shirt. He had done the transfiguration on his body himself, at Dumbledore's insistence of a disguise. Complacent, meek - he needed to appear so.

And needing to appear so rankled....

"Well it looks like we'll hit the Quidditch store first,' Ron said, rubbing his hands together eagerly. In his pocket Harry knew he had a pouch thick with galleons. His family had been well off for money since Arthur had become Minister.

Hermione sighed and Ginny was just looking around at all the people calmly. She seemed just happy to be here. Her exams had gone well, but Harry had never doubted otherwise. Now they had until September 1^st before Hogwarts began again, for her sixth year and Ron and Hermione's seventh. Harry had already decided he would not be going back to school, a fact Dumbledore wouldn't learn of until it was too late.

He smiled at that thought and chuckled without realising it. A touch of madness, perhaps - gained and healed but never forgotten in battles long ago.

"What's so funny?" Ginny asked as they weaved their way down the street

"Nothing that should bother us today," he replied, squeezing her hand. She squeezed it back.

The sun shone brightly today with only a few thin stratus clouds in the sky. All the sounds of Diagon Alley were like remembering a forgotten memory for Harry, as were the sights. It still felt unbelievably good to be back, to be home. So much had been sacrificed to grasp this world once again....

"I don't want to spend all day in Quality Quidditch Supplies, Ron," Hermione said. "I want to spend all day in Flourish and Blotts."

"We'll hit Flourish and Blotts later," Ron persisted, dragging Hermione towards the Quidditch shop. "Much later."

Harry grinned and he and Ginny followed them, who were in turn followed by two 'minders', Order members in disguise, whilst the other eight took up stations outside of the shop. Inside, Harry immediately ducked as a miniature broom shot through the air just over his head and did loops near the ceiling. A dozen of so snitches were flying around as well and the shop was bursting with light and sound.

It wasn't that busy, as most were either at work or at Hogwarts, but there were still about a dozen witches and wizards in the store. Harry followed Ginny over to the broom section where a Firebolt was on display, revolving slowly in the window. Ron had dragged Hermione over to the Chudley Cannons merchandise.

"Are you going to play on the team next year, Harry?" she asked, picking up a new Nimbus and testing it for balance. The sleek broom hovered just below her waist.

"I don't know," he lied. He did know - he would not be at Hogwarts to play.

Ginny smiled, but there was uncertainty in her eyes - could she suspect something? - and then they moved on. The two Order members were doing their best to be inconspicuous, but the snitches had taken it upon themselves to buzz around their heads, and there was no clear way of being inconspicuous with six fluttering golden balls zooming around your head. Harry ignored them.

They must have spent an hour moving around the store, in which Hermione grew very impatient and started to push Ron quickly around all the sections - he had made at least three laps already and wanted to make more - but eventually Harry wanted to get on with the day, with his plans, and the two Order members did seem to be growing increasingly agitated.

In his pocket Harry only had fifteen galleons and a single knut - what he had found in his trunk - and he used that to buy a backpack from the Quidditch league merchandise section. It didn't matter which team, but he made it the Cannons just to appease Ron - who did nod approvingly at his choice - and paid at the counter. That bag would be of extreme use today, if all went to plan.

"What do you want that for, Harry?" Hermione asked as they exited the store back out onto the sunny street. Ron was carrying a bag practically bursting with Quidditch merchandise and smiling happily whilst swinging it.

"He wants it so people will know he supports the Cannons," Ron said, as if it were obvious.

Harry laughed. "That's as good a reason as any, I suppose," he said, running a hand back through his shoulder length brown hair. He had found himself looking at a stranger more than once when glancing in the store window at his reflection. He didn't like it, the disguise, he should be able to walk freely in the world - but then he had to appear meek, agreeable in front of the old man.

Before slinging the bag over his shoulder - it was a horrible shade of orange with black stripes - Harry waved his hand down and muttered a few words under his breath. His palm shone for a moment, no one noticed, and then he looped the bag over his shoulder. It weighed nothing and would weigh nothing no matter how much he put in it, and he could put in a lot with the space he had extended on the inside.

"I have to go to Gringotts," he told his friends as they headed for the bookstore, being led by Hermione, of course. Harry was happy to go anywhere today, just happy to do it with his friends, but he did need to go to Gringotts. "Do you three want to go on ahead and I'll meet you either in Flourish and Blotts or for that ice cream later?" he asked them.

"We should stick together," Hermione began, at the same time as Ron said. "Sounds good."

"Professor Dumbledore won't be happy if--" Hermione, ever one to obey the rules as she saw them, said quickly. Harry cut her off.

"I don't particularly care how Dumbledore feels at the moment," he whispered, his eyes flashing. "He doesn't control my life and he shouldn't control yours."

"I'll go with Harry," Ginny said, and she linked her hand through his again. "We won't be long and nothing is going to happen anyway. Fortescue's in an hour?"

Ron nodded and after a moment Hermione did as well.

Gringotts Wizarding Bank was just down the street from Flourish and Blotts, but on the way Harry and Ginny walked by a very familiar monument, filled with names and dates of death, in the square outside of the bank. Ginny sighed when she looked at it and Harry had a very clear memory of standing in the alley when it was empty with Ethan, talking about how this war would kill them.

It killed me at least, Ethan whispered wryly. Twice... well, almost twice. One and a half times your war has killed me.

Gringotts itself was another wash of memory for Harry, right down to the goblin standing in attendance by the large doors, and after they walked through these doors they came to another set of silver ones, engraved with a rhyme:

Enter stranger, but take heed
Of what awaits the sin of greed
For those who take, but do not earn,
Must pay most dearly in their turn.
So if you seek beneath our floors
A treasure that was never yours,
Thief, you have been warned, beware
Of finding more than treasure there.

Two goblin guards pushed the doors open and he and Ginny walked into the bustling foyer of the goblin bank. A line of magical folk was stationed at practically every teller, with more rushing about as if looking for a teller or filling in forms and whatnot. The large chamber stretched across the way and the long counter was filled with hundreds of goblins, all busy working, counting and weighing coins, writing in ledgers, and examining precious stones - if not helping the customers.

Harry knew the goblins were greedy, cunning creatures by nature - they liked things kept straight forward and governed themselves mostly, but they did show proper respect for their position as bankers in the wizarding world, and as such Harry expected to be given a private room in which to discuss his finances. There was a counter for such enquiries.

He waltzed over to it, still holding Ginny's slightly cool soft hand, and felt the presence of at least four 'minders' behind him somewhere. That made him smile. They would not be able to follow him further into the bank, not even if they gave their names and explained what they were doing - which they wouldn't in any case.

"Good day," Harry said to the goblin seated before him, high up on his pedestal behind the counter. "I would like to make some enquiries about my account"

"And you are?" the goblin asked, looking down his long crooked nose at Harry and raising a thin eyebrow disdainfully.

Harry grinned. "Owner of vault 711, if that means anything to you. Just for an instant, less than five seconds, Harry transfigured himself back to normal, before returning the disguise. It wouldn't do to have the world learn of his return just yet - anonymity worked for now, even if was because he was considered dead.

"Mr. P--" the goblin began, his eyes widening in surprise.

Harry just scowled and the goblin stopped speaking abruptly. "If I could talk to an advisor in private it would be much appreciated," he said, leaving no room for nonsense.

"Follow me," the goblin said politely - politely for a goblin anyway - and Harry did. He and Ginny walked around the counter and were led down a series of passages and maze like corridors back into the heart of the bank. At one point his little goblin assistant had to stop to open a door with goblin magic, but after that it was smooth sailing down another dozen or so intricate hallways.

Harry suspected it was designed to unnerve and keep a person lost, but his trained mind memorised the turns and, if needs be, he could follow his way back without hesitation. Eventually, the goblin stopped before a wooden door, knocked three times, and then entered when the door opened.

Harry dropped his disguise. He and Ginny were alone with just two goblins. It would not be needed.

"Mr Harry Potter to see you, sir," the enquiry-goblin drawled. "About matters pertaining to his account."

The larger goblin seated behind his desk didn't give a start at his name, but his round eyes did widen slightly before a mask of indifference took over his face. "Thank you, Feric," he said calmly. "That will be all."

The younger smaller goblin, Feric, bowed his head and made his way out of the room, closing the door behind him.

"Mr Potter," the other goblin began, standing and moving around his desk to stand in front of Harry. They shook hands and Harry introduced Ginny to the goblin, whose name was Engaw. "I must say that even the goblins had begun to believe the stories of your death, Mr Potter."

"As you can see I'm alive and well, Engaw," Harry replied with a small smile as the goblin motioned for them to sit in the two chairs before his desk. It wasn't dark in the room, there were many candles but no windows. Apart from a stack of dishevelled parchment on his desk, Engaw kept this room neat and organised, with what seemed to be Muggle filing cabinets.

Engaw nodded. "What can Gringotts do for you today?" he then asked.

"Well I intend to make a withdrawal of several thousand galleons but that can wait. Tell me, Engaw, is it possible for the bank to obtain Muggle documentation? Passports, driving licences, birth certificates - that sort of thing."

Engaw smiled and nodded his head. When he smiled all he did was bare his teeth. "It is, Mr Potter, for a modest fee of course."

"Of course," Harry agreed wryly.

Ginny frowned. "What do you want that for, Harry?" she asked.

Harry shrugged. "Better to be safe than sorry," he told her. There were other, more dangerous reasons but they were for another time.

"We will need a Muggle headshot of you, sir," Engaw continued. "Perhaps one or two different ones for originalities sake. The documents would be real, in every sense of the word, but it is the little touches that matter."

"You'll have the photos," Harry said. "I would also like to sell my shares in Nimbus and Bertie Botts Confectionary as soon as possible."

Engaw nodded. "Standing transaction," he said, shuffling around in his desk draw for a moment. "Again the bank can do all of the nasty paperwork for you, at a small fee."

"Take it from however much the stock sells for," Harry said as the goblin slipped a piece of parchment across the table towards him. "What's this?" he asked.

"A stock transfer form," Engaw replied. "You sign over you stock portfolio to Gringotts, the bank will then sell them through Gringotts, taking one and a half percent from the total sale whilst the rest goes into a vault of your choosing."

Harry nodded but scanned the form quickly anyway. It was as Engaw had said. He picked up the inked quill that stood in its golden holder on the desk before him and scrawled in the vault number 711 before signing the document. Engaw bared his teeth again, and why not? That transaction had made nearly three thousand easy galleons for the bank, probably of which no small commission went to the goblin himself.

Selling the stock for about two hundred and seventy thousand galleons would not increase the amount in his vault significantly, but the stocks were just dead weight to him. He needed the money, not the say in business ventures, and every little bit would help. Harry fully intended to be broke by the end of this war, every galleon poured into his war effort. He didn't give a damn if he had nothing, so long as he won.

"I'd also like to sell the estates I own in France, Germany and North America, Engaw," he continued no sooner had he handed over the stock form. "I'm not sure of their market value, but I would like Gringotts to sell them if possible, for a modest fee of course," he finished with a smile.

Engaw smiled as well. "Of course."

The pictures he had of those houses made them out to be grand places, with many rooms and in prime locations. They were probably worth at least another million galleons into his account, even after the goblins took their percentage.

"Can it be done as swiftly as the stocks were?"

"Sadly, no," Engaw sighed, tapping his desk with confidence. "Germany, North America and France, you say? I can have the forms made up tonight for you to sign and owl them out first thing tomorrow morning."

Harry nodded - it would have to do. "Thank you," he said, standing up. Ginny did the same. Engaw, showing proper respect for one of the banks richer clients, stood as well and opened his door for them. He and Harry shook hands again on the way out. "I'm looking forward to doing future business with you, Engaw," Harry said as they exited the room.

"And I you, Mr Potter," the smartly dressed goblin replied. "Have a good day."

Another goblin was summoned from seemingly out of nowhere to lead them back through the maze of intricate corridors and Harry set off following the little fellow deep in thought, holding Ginny's hand again but thinking miles away. He would be doing a lot more business, a lot more spending soon. He had kept the estate in Australia for a reason. Distance meant nothing to him, he had many ways of travelling across the distance in a heartbeat. None of them were Apparation, Portkeys, of Floo powder.

Before heading back out into the bank Harry replaced his disguise.

Back in the main busy foyer, Harry asked Feric if he could withdraw four thousand galleons from his vault and the goblin was only too happy to assist him. Saving them all a trip down to the vault in the carts, Harry had them fill his Chudley Cannons bag from the single small vault kept on the ground floor. They did it all with smiles, and only for a small fee, of course.

Ten galleons for every five hundred drawn. All in all, Harry had just spent about twenty thousand galleons to gain over a million. Once the housing estates were sold that is, and the stocks.

They picked up their minders outside of the bank and Harry saw the relief on their faces as he emerged with Ginny unharmed. They probably weren't looking forward to face Dumbledore if they lost him. That made Harry sigh, as he was sure the old man meant well... it was just, he couldn't know that Harry was right this time.

Battle lords... he thought. We live lonely lives....

He felt sorry for Dumbledore, really - as they were the same. Both led a life fighting darkness, both having to live with more than was expected of them anyway. If he could, he would smooth things over with Dumbledore. It probably wouldn't be likely, not when the man was as easy to move as a mountain (move, not blow up) but he would try.

"When are you going to tell us what's wrong?" Ginny asked him quietly, out of nowhere. "You're planning something now," she continued, showing no emotion on her face. "Are you planning to leave again, Harry?" There was hurt in her voice despite how cold she looked.

He gazed at her from behind his sunglasses, thankful they were masking the pain he knew must be flashing across his eyes like forks of lightning. He also suppressed a small smile. She had always known how to read him best, like an open book. He had thought that he hid his emotions and feelings well... obviously not that well. War he knew, but there was a lot he didn't.

"I won't lie to you, Gin," he said as the crowds enveloped them again. "But I can't tell you now. I will tell you, soon - once I know more, that I promise."

Ginny nodded - she did, but she still looked at him with a measure of uncertainty. "Let's just go meet Ron and Hermione," was all she said.

As arranged, Ron and Hermione were seated at one of the tables in the sun outside of Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. Hermione had a bag of books on the floor at her feet and Ron was digging into his ice cream with vigour. They were talking companionably when Harry and Ginny walked up and sat down.

"Everything go okay at the bank?" Hermione asked, swirling her caramel and fudge sundae around with the small spoon.

"Harry's quite the businessman," Ginny commented wryly, smiling at him sideways. It seemed the conversation from a moment ago was forgotten for now.

"It went well enough to begin with," he said.

"To begin with what?" Ron asked through a mouthful of ice cream.

Harry just grinned. "I'll get us some ice cream, Ginny."

Five minutes later Harry returned with two bowls of what he supposed was lunch today. It had been decades since he had tasted something really sweet, so he picked pretty much the sweetest thing on the menu. Sticky toffee pudding with vanilla ice cream and a brandy-snap basket. He got Ginny the same.

It was the cake he liked the best, the fluffy warm cake covered in the sticky toffee. He had always liked cake and couldn't remember the last time he had had any. This made up for the lack of cake over the years. Cake was definitely good, and praise worthy.

"I think," he said, mixing the cold vanilla ice cream with the warm toffee, "that I may buy this place just for the cake." The thing was, he was only half joking.

Before any of his friends could reply, a sudden and extremely loud bang rocketed across the sky like a burst of thunder. It was thunder and it made everyone jump except for Harry - nothing could startle him anymore, nothing like that anyway - but as the sound rolled away, much like thunder, Harry looked up to the sky and frowned.

Apart from a few wispy white clouds the sky was clear, the sun shining warmly. He felt a pulling in his stomach though, something he had long since associated with darkness, with Evil - the opposite of what he was. It was a talent, or rather a curse, of the Darkslayer.

"That was odd," Ginny shrugged and Harry continued to gaze up at the sky silently.

It wasn't natural and for him to feel such a response meant it wasn't gone. He shook his head though, knowing there was nothing to do for it now - the feeling had passed. "Probably nothing," he mumbled, more to himself than his friends. "Anyway, do we want to get on with today? I want to head to the magical instruments shop up the street."

"What for?" Ron asked, scraping the last of his ice cream from his bowl.

Harry's face darkened considerably. "To see if they've got a pensieve."

Harry had never really stepped far into this shop beyond the need for scales and a telescope for his lessons at Hogwarts years ago, but the business did reach back far into more complex and sometimes utterly useless magical instruments. Pensieves were rare, Hermione informed him, and of course expensive.

The shop had enough shiny instruments to put Dumbledore's office to shame, most of them glowing or spinning or doing something that they were obviously designed to do. One, in the corner, looked like an upside down vase that was constantly sprouting different coloured smoke rings. Harry couldn't even begin to fathom its purpose.

There was an old man behind the counter, dressed in purple robes and sporting a rather large moustache underneath his silver eyes. Harry thought that he looked as extravagant as some of the instruments he sold.

"Good day, sir," he said as Harry approached the counter, which was again covered in broken parts of magical instruments, some still trying to produce noises or lights for whatever it was they did. "Welcome to my store, how can I help you today?"

Ron and Hermione had gone off exploring the store and Ginny, as he had expected, stuck by him - as if afraid he was going to up and disappear again. Without really thinking about it he took her hand again.

"I'm looking for a pensieve," Harry informed the man.

He raised his eyebrows appreciatively for a moment but then frowned. "Pensieve, you say... well, I've got one - had it for more years than I care to remember since no one has had the money to buy it. They're an indulgence really, pensieves, not something practical like this Sippoglass here."

He gestured to a three pronged tripod-like device that looked to be made of bronze. It shook from left to right, like a pendulum, and that seemed to be the extent of its abilities. Harry didn't know what to make of it, so he ignored it. For some reason all these devices unnerved him.

"I can pay..." Harry began, but then switched tactics. "How much?"

"Well it is a fairly new model, made thirty years ago - there have been only about six made since that time and none were much of an improvement," the man said, looking thoughtful and stroking his chin. "It can store about one thousand hours of memory, fairly small and light for its capacity. I can't let it go for anything less than two thousand galleons."

Harry nodded, expecting no less, and unslung the feather light bag from his shoulder. "Is gold okay?" he asked.

The man was wary until Harry began to pull sackfuls of gold from the bag. Each brown sack held five hundred galleons and he handed over four, half of what he had withdrawn earlier.

"Blimey," the man choked, pulling a small pipe out of his robes and biting down on it. "It's out the back - I'll just go fetch it."

"Is this all you want to do today?" Ginny asked as the man disappeared.

"For now it is all I can do," he told her absently, unaware that his gaze had drifted upwards towards the ceiling, but it went beyond that to the sky. He felt the pull again. Shaking his head he looked back at Ginny. "Do you want to do anything else? We can runaway if you want, out into the Muggle world - find something fun to do."

Ginny smiled and rolled her eyes. "Harry," she sighed, and hugged him close briefly.

Frowning and smiling, Harry hugged her back. He understood so much about the universe, had known and understood many men who had lived and died and now lived again, but he thought that he would never understand women. He just hugged her back, thankful that he could.

"Here we are, sir," the old man said and scraped away a load of loose parts off the counter and onto the floor. He dropped the heavy stone basin with a grunt and slid its lid back into place trying to catch his breath. "As I said, for its memory size, it is very light."

It wasn't that heavy, Harry supposed, as he ran his fingers along the runes around the edge and lifted it off the counter. He asked Ginny to open his Cannons bag as wide as it would go and she did. It just fit in when he pushed it, scraping along the zip before falling into the larger space created by magic. It might be a hassle getting it out again, but it was in for now. Zipping up the bag, it weighed nothing, Harry turned to shake the man's hand.

"You got a name, son?" the man asked as they shook.

"Ethan," Harry said without hesitating. "Ethan Rafe." His fringe was covering his scar and his eyes were hidden behind his glasses - it helped the lie.

"Well, thank you for your custom, Mr Rafe; I hope to see you again."

Smooth, Ethan chuckled. Even I believed it.

Ginny looked upset for some reason - but neither of them mentioned it.

The world seemed darker when the four friends exited the shop, and Harry glared up at the developing clouds in the sky - it wasn't natural. The thin wisps had grown thicker, and darker. He scowled, something was happening and he had a feeling it was to do with him. He usually had a hand in things like this - whatever this was. Evil and madmen seemed drawn to him like a moth to the flame.

"Looks like it's getting a bit stormy," Hermione commented, rubbing her arms. Ron was carrying her book bag and he nodded his agreement. "Seems late in the year for a thunderstorm."

Harry was inclined to agree when he decided it was time to leave. Unconsciously he clenched his fists and behind his sunglasses his eyes burnt with power. Something... wicked was on the horizon.

No rest for the damned.

*~*~*~*

That night Ginny was sent to find Harry upstairs at Headquarters and bring him down for dinner. She felt that he had been distant since they had returned from Diagon Alley but could not reason out why. He was happy enough when spoken to but he seemed distracted now, kept looking out of the windows - it was odd.

Climbing the stairs, Ginny didn't find him in his bedroom or on the second floor at all. That really only left one place, up in Buckbeak's room, that he would be. She set off that way in no great hurry - if he was going to leave he would at least say goodbye first, that much she could trust him on.

You can trust him more than that, she told herself. He's Harry.

That was true enough but--no, no buts. It was Harry, Harry who never complained and always tried his hardest to do what they all knew was right. He deserved her trust, even if he did gamble with it.

That's not fair, she thought. It isn't fair to think that he should keep himself safe when he never really has. If he has to do something, if he has to leave, then it could only be for a good reason. Still, it hurt to think he could leave her again. Didn't he love her anymore? He was planning something, planning something big, but never once mentioned their relationship - which had run aground of late.

Ginny felt the distance that had grown up between them like a biting cold she couldn't warm herself from. It was more than just the absence, the two months he had been missing, Harry himself had changed - grown up - in that time. He was more mature, yet still willing to make a joke or two; at least she thought some of the things he said were supposed to be jokes. Most did not make sense to anyone but Harry.

And then there were the moments his eyes seemed to turn in on themselves, as if he was listening to something none of them could hear. A voice in his head...? she wondered, shaking in spite of herself. Could Harry be slightly mad....?

Maybe he was just thinking... deeply.

Ginny sighed and shook her head whilst a glint of determination shone in her eyes. Something had happened to Harry, something big, and whatever it was she would help him work his way through it, make him talk about it even if she had to beat through that wall he kept around most of his emotions.

I love the big idiot, she thought fondly. And I'll love him no matter what has happened.

Up in the highest room in the house Ginny did not see Harry. Buckbeak was asleep on the big king-sized bed which he had been using as a shredding post for his claws, and a cold wind blew in through the open window. Ginny could see a splattering of bright stars and thick heavy clouds out of the window and she went over to close it, not wanting to let a draft in.

Reaching the windowsill she saw Harry sitting out on the roof; saw his silhouette next to the shining silver stone basin, the pensieve. He sat on one of the moderately flat parts, his legs dangling near the edge and looking out over London. Beneath him Ginny knew was a fair drop into the backyard.

She was about to call out of him, but he beat her to it.

"Come out here and sit with me, Ginny," his dark shadow said, sitting in stark contrast in the star light. As he spoke, a long thin tendril of silver light dropped from his finger and into the pensieve.

Trying to figure out how he had known she was there - she was sure that she had not made a sound - Ginny hesitated only for a moment before trusting Harry and stepping up and out onto the ledge of the window with her slippered foot. There was only a small wind and a small drop onto the roof and Ginny did it easily, having no fear of heights thanks to her Quidditch training.

The roof was made of slate tiles and she made her way carefully down further out onto the roof towards the edge where Harry was sitting. It wasn't a steep incline, but then again it wasn't flat either. Sitting down quickly on the other side of the pensieve, she sat cross legged and rested her arm on the edge of the silvery stone basin.

"What are you doing out here, Harry?" she asked, wrapping her sleeping robe closely around herself. "It's getting cold."

Harry nodded, his green eyes sparkling as he gazed up at the few remaining stars not hidden by the clouds. "I know," he told her. "Too cold, too soon...."

He touched his forehead again and when he pulled his finger away another silvery strand of memory came with it. He placed it carefully in the pensieve. Looking into the basin, Ginny saw that a very thin layer of shining silvery thought covered the bottom left corner.

"I came to tell you that dinner is ready," she said softly, gazing up from the basin and into his face. It was so careworn, lined and fatigued. He looked tired - beyond tired, but his eyes were sparkling. For the first time she noticed the streaks of grey in his hair. He was tired.

"Is Dumbledore here?" he asked.

Ginny shook her head. "I haven't seen him. Remus is though; he wants to talk to you about your werewolf potion."

Harry nodded. "Feels like its going to rain," he mumbled.

Ginny agreed, looking at the sky. The storm clouds had come out of nowhere, building fast since that afternoon, and towered over London. She shuddered and then wondered why, it wasn't the cold. "Early summer showers maybe," she offered.

Harry shook his head now. "No... I don't think so." Another wisp of memory fell into the pensieve.

"What was that one?" she asked, indicating to the small amount of thought liquid in the basin with her head.

Harry's smile didn't reach his eyes. "That was of fighting Death Eaters."

"You fought Death Eaters while you were gone!?" she exclaimed. Nothing made sense about Harry's disappearance - nothing.

"It might take me a week or two," he replied, "but you'll know everything once I've put it in this... thing."

Pain marred Harry's tired face for a moment but then he masked it well. Not well enough, she thought, not nearly well enough if he was trying to hide it. What could be so bad you can't just tell us, Harry? she asked herself, feeling nervous. It was then that she became aware that Harry's hands were shaking and he looked like he was going to be sick.

"Harry," she began. "Y--"

"I'm just cold," he cut in quickly and rubbed his hands together. "And hungry. Let's go down to the kitchen."

Harry levitated the pensieve all the way down to his room and then locked it away tight inside of his Cannons backpack which he sealed inside of his trunk. No one was getting into those memories before time - there was a lot of hurt in there, for everyone involved.

"Good evening, Remus," Harry said as he entered the kitchen, taking up his usual place at the table. "You're looking well."

Younger every time he saw the former werewolf, Remus' grin lit up his once haggard face. "I hear you got to spend some time out of the house today, Harry," he began. "How was Diagon Alley?"

"Much the same," he shrugged, rubbing the small fuzzy growth on his cheek. "Felt a lot... smaller, I think."

Remus nodded. "I wanted to ask you about the potion," he said. Seated at the head of the table, Harry began to fill his plate as he listened to Remus. Mrs Weasley, Ron, Hermione and Ginny were there as well, and from the sounds of things there were other Order members in the living room.

"Fire away."

Remus nodded. "Can it be used before the change on a full moon? Or does the transformation have to take place?"

Harry thought for a moment. Such things like this were complex and could be modified but with varying degrees of success. "It can be administered before the full moon," he said carefully. "But it may not cure them completely and the... disease could grow again. It was really just a coincidence that you happened to be transformed the day I woke up, but it worked in our favour. As a wolf the potion had a chance to kill the disease at its source - if it were given whilst human the sickness could survive. Better, safer, to wait until the transformation."

"I'd thought as much," Remus stated with a sigh. "No matter. I guess if it was meant to be easy there would have been a cure years ago...."

Harry sensed a hint of a question in that, but it would take hours if not days to explain the source of his cure. But he could understand the curiosity. He just hoped Remus was not asking on Dumbledore's behalf (orders?).

"My parents want to take me to Australia for a holiday this year," Hermione was speaking to Ron, quickly as if she had just worked up the courage. "Which is probably about as far away from this war as we could get, so do you think maybe that you could come, Ron? For a week or two at least?"

Ron looked up to his mother. "What do you think, mum? I am of age now and I've never seen Australia."

Mrs Weasley frowned but it turned into a smile when she looked at Ron and Hermione together. "I'm sure we can work something out for a week or two, dear," she said. "A holiday away from the unpleasantness around here would probably do you good."

Ron grinned from ear to ear and put his arm around Hermione briefly, who was also having trouble hiding her grin. "And Harry and Ginny," she said. "If you could come as well my parents would really like to meet you, Gin, and you again, Harry - they haven't forgotten what you did back at Christmas."

Harry frowned - he couldn't remember what he had done back at Christmas. His memory was fuzzy but he seemed to recall a levitating bus and a broken arm. Voldemort had learnt of the prophecy using Legilimency, so they had in turn released it to the world. But he had saved all of their lives with the floo powder before Voldemort had arrived.

"It's different for Harry," Mrs Weasley said quickly. "It isn't as safe for him to leave the house for too long, dear, you know that. And he's just getting over his... ordeal. No, it would be better for Harry to stay."

"I'll decide what is better for me," Harry said in such a way that the very air seemed to drop ten degrees. He placed his fork calmly on the table to stare at Mrs Weasley. "Thank you for your concern, Mrs Weasley, but I grew up a long time ago and I can make my own choices now."

The last estate he had kept was in Australia. A large place, a manor house with a lot of acreage surrounding it. Perhaps perfect for training in.... he was getting too far ahead of himself there. But this trip would be the perfect opportunity to see the place for himself. More than that he wanted to go with his friends, wanted a normal holiday even if he did mix it with work - with war.

There was also a family in Australia he owed thanks to for taking him in when he was a memory-less mess. Sort of a life debt, he supposed, and he owed them money - for the barn and property destruction. Vampires had attacked them because of him, the godforsaken Darkslayer.

Mrs Weasley flushed - whether because she was upset or angry he didn't know, probably a bit of both. He was sorry he had... well, hurt her, but he didn't regret saying what he said. The sooner people began to treat him properly the sooner it would be easier for everyone. Staying in this house six out of seven days a week was no life, it wasn't worth living - he may as well have died in one of the millions of opportunities across the worlds.

"Harry Potter," she said strictly. "The Order does a lot to keep you safe, whether you've grown up or not."

As she said that something in Harry's mind clicked and he thought of Dumbledore. Could he... could he possibly... did the old man blame himself, think he had failed in someway? And was now doing everything he could to keep him from harm for as long as he could... surely not.

Down the hall, Harry heard the front door open and close and could hear muttered whisperings coming to a stop in the other room. Tonks came through a moment later and nodded her neon blue short spiky hair towards him. "The Order would like to see you in here for a moment, Harry, if you would."

Harry nodded and left the table, smiling reassuringly at his friends. Remus frowned and came with him, clapping a hand on his shoulder as they walked into the front living room. There were a dozen people in there, seated in chairs and standing around the fire, or in Snape's case standing back in the shadows with a scowl.

Dumbledore was there, as was Dermas Trask. They were hanging their cloaks on the pegs near the door, and Dermas was carrying a thin object wrapped in thin brown leather.

Apart from Dumbledore, Remus, Snape, Dermas, Tonks, and Kingsley Shacklebolt, Harry could not recall the names of the other witches and wizards in the room. They were both young and old and a few tugged at his memory... but it had been a very, very long time.

"Harry," Dermas Trask said, smiling. It always looked like he was about to bite something when he smiled, maybe because his scarred face became stretched and his missing teeth were exposed. "I've got something here that belongs to you."

Harry had an inkling as to what it was and he wasn't wrong when Dermas unrolled the leather strip he was holding to reveal the glowing, ruby encrusted sword of Gryffindor. It pulled at Harry as soon as he saw it, and he moved across the room to take it from Dermas. The last time Harry had seen this sword it had been embedded in his shoulder and sticking out of his back - one hundred years ago. His mind was all over the place.

It belonged in his left arm, as he already carried one in his right. It had been something he kept in the change over to his younger self, the sword, and really Harry had never doubted that he would keep it. It just seemed right. With a thought Harry summoned the blade into his left hand and it appeared there in a shower of red sparks that floated softly to the ground. All of those eyes watching him at the moment instinctively felt that it belonged with him, that it looked right with him.

"Thanks, Trask," Harry said, and hid it away just out of sight in his arm. It sadly made him feel complete again, now that he had his weapon back.

"Good evening, my boy," Dumbledore said, showing no sign of their argument the other evening. "I'm glad to find you here."

Harry snorted and turned away, heading over to a seat currently occupied by Tonks. He sat down on the arm next to her. "Where else would I be, Professor?" he asked. "It seems it's just been one prison after another for the last two months."

Now that wasn't fair and Harry regretted saying it almost straight away. Or did he? He was conflicted. He sighed as the Order members eyed him with shame and anger, disappointment and incredulity. All except for Dermas, Remus, and Tonks - their faces remained neutral.

"That is what we are here to talk to you about, Harry," Dumbledore continued, taking the seat offered to him by Kingsley near the fire. "The unfortunate events you went through over the last two months. We want to know if you are feeling well, not just physically but mentally also."

Harry almost smiled but managed to keep his face calm. They wanted to know if he was alright in the head.

Do you want some help on this one? Ethan asked, laughing. Just follow my lead and say what I say: Well, you see, Dumbledore, I've been talking to a lot of voices in my head since I left - one was a demon named Allarius, pretty bad guy with a weak sense of humour. Right now, there's only one and it just so happens to be the Dark Lord's son. Talking to him actually kept me sane whilst I waded through all the shit the universe managed to throw at me on a daily basis.

"I'm as sane as the next wizard," he told Dumbledore dismissively. "After all the crap that happened to me before this little abduction by the vampires, I'm pretty much adjusted enough to cope with a month out in the cold. I managed to escape, didn't I?"

"How did you escape, Potter?" Snape asked - no, demanded to know - and openly sneered from his dark corner.

"Don't you have a cauldron brewing somewhere that needs your attention?" he asked the man. "If not I can give you the recipe for another incurable disease, potions master."

Face hidden in the shadows, Harry actually heard Snape grinding his teeth.

"You've changed, Harry," Tonks said unexpectedly to his left, putting a hand on his arm and looking up at him with concern. "You don't seem yourself and we are worried."

"There are people at St Mungo's who will be willing to listen, Harry," Dumbledore said. "Unless you want to talk to one of us - it may help to let someone in."

This time Harry did laugh, he couldn't help it. "If I told them even what happened in the first few days after I disappeared." He continued to laugh but it was without mirth and sounded more than a little insane "Just the first few days and they'd be locking me up in a padded room away from sharp objects. I wouldn't put it passed some of you either."

"Harry," Dumbledore stressed, his old face looking every one of its years, "I, we, are here to help you - to keep you safe. We will listen."

For a few moments Harry's mouth worked soundlessly and he went from laughing to white hot anger in an instant. When he spoke his voice was a deadly, dangerous whisper, and even Remus took a step back behind him as his presence seemed to suddenly take over the room, enveloping even Dumbledore.

"Keep me safe...." he whispered. "All you do is lock me away every chance you get, keep me ignorant of what is happening in the world, shield me from the truth. Answer me a few questions and then truly ask yourselves if you have kept me 'safe'. Number one, how many times has Voldemort stabbed any of you through the chest with a thirty five inch blade?" His question was directed to the whole group but he kept his eyes solely on Dumbledore.

Harry was wearing a thin polo shirt that was very loose and as such he had no trouble stretching the collar down to reveal the tangled mess of scar tissue that was his right shoulder. More than one member of the Order winced and Dumbledore paled. Maybe he had finally realised that Harry held all the cards.

"You like that one?" Harry asked, shrugging his collar back into place. "I got plenty more scars, most gained from trusting you and your promises of protection." Again, eyes only on Dumbledore. He turned his left forearm out to reveal a long jagged scar running from just beneath his elbow to halfway towards his wrist. "Voldemort again, he used some spell to force my bone out through the skin. Another." He lifted the leg of his jeans and revealed a long straight scar that forked out, making the letter Y if looked at upside down. "Bellatrix Lestrange gave me this one after your protection failed on my prison at the Dursleys. I killed my first Death Eater that night."

No one had anything to say and Harry realised he was breathing heavily. He calmed himself without visible struggle. He had only just scratched the surface. His mind remembered hundreds of wounds that his body didn't show anymore, but they were there. That wasn't the Orders fault, not directly, but it felt good to blame someone other than himself for awhile - however immature that was. He was close to breaking point. The magic inside of him boiled, it burned, begging for release. Harry kept it on a tight leash.

"Another question," he continued in that quiet whisper. "What could you possibly do that could help me now? This scar," and now he lifted his fringe to reveal the infamous lightning bolt, "ties me to Voldemort. I'm closer to him at this very moment than most of you have ever been. Sometimes it's a constant struggle to keep him out of my mind, and it has gone way beyond Occlumency." His eyes flickered to Snape and back.

Although his scar had only twinged once since he had been back, it had been infinitely worse before he left. What he said was true, if based on the time frame of two months. Outside he could still sense something.... malevolent about the storm brewing, but it was of little concern right now.

"Harry," Dumbledore began, his voice shaking only slightly. "Harry, you need to talk to someone. It really will help--"

It was too much. The man would not listen. Harry snapped and lashed out. "WHY?" he roared. "NO ONE CAN HELP ME WITH WHAT I HAVE TO DEAL WITH! NO ONE! YOU LOT CAN'T EVEN BEGIN TO IMAGINE...."

The air was suddenly charged with power, practically humming with it, and it was all coming from Harry - whose eyes were shining faintly blue. Or, perhaps, it was not his eyes that were glowing but the tears welling up inside of them.

"WHY DO YOU PERSIST, DUMBLEDORE?" he cried and the flames in the fire almost died. The Order looked scared but he carried on, not giving a damn. "DO YOU FEEL GUILTY MAYBE? ARE YOU SCARED YOUR PRECIOUS WEAPON IS GOING TO SNAP? MAYBE YOU JUST CAN'T STOP TRYING TO CONTROL ME - YOU'VE BEEN DOING IT FOR SO DAMN LONG!"

Harry held his tears in check but only just and the light in his eyes faded as he felt a warm hand on his shoulder. Just from the softness of it he knew it was Ginny, always Ginny. On the arm of the chair he sat on he leaned back to look up into her face. He felt that he had reached a complete loss, that he was trapped in despair... and there was Ginny like an anchor to sanity, a shield to the horrendous memories.

He didn't have to say anything and neither did she. Their eyes said more than enough. Harry stood and grasped her hand tightly. He stood tall. He was aware of Ron and Hermione standing behind him and that Mrs Weasley had entered the room as well.

"Here is how it is going be," he whispered, his voice pain wrought - forged in anguish. Ginny stood defiantly next to him as he spoke his next words to the Order, her hand gripping his just as fiercely as he was gripping hers. "I'm only going to say this once, and if any of you," His eyes settled on Dumbledore again. "If any of you don't listen, or argue, I will leave this house tonight and never return - tracking wards or no tracking wards. I can go places you will never find me."

Folds in reality, Ethan cackled. Stepping into different layers of this piece of the fabric. You worked out Allarius' trick and didn't tell me! I'm affronted, Harry.

Although no words were spoken then, no one in the room doubted Harry could do what he said. There was just... no lie in his eyes.

"The cost of defiance has always been high for me," he sighed, fading into memory before snapping out again. "Too high at times, and many paid in blood for it - but I've always done it for the right cause, for the greater good. Remember that, because I intend to fight this war openly from now on, in defiance to Voldemort and the cost in life will be high."

It always is, he whispered in his mind. A universal constant, no matter which universe I'm in, bloody war can never be avoided.

Give them hell, Darkslayer, Ethan replied.

"No one is asking any of you to fight," Harry continued. "No madman has hunted you since birth, no prophecy dictates your life." Prophecies. "And yet you do fight, for the right cause - all of you. I have a final question for you now, before we are finished here tonight." His tone left no possibility of it being otherwise. "What right do you think you have to stop me fighting just like you, until you think I'm ready? Well? Can anyone answer that? Why should I, the only one forced into this war without a choice, be left to do nothing?"

There was no answer and Harry hadn't expected one. For a moment he felt that the only thing keeping him on his feet was Ginny's warm and tight grip. Dumbledore looked about to speak but Harry beat him to it.

"I know you came here tonight to honestly try and help me." Again this was directed mainly towards Dumbledore. "And I am thankful for that, more than thankful - but it is true when I say that none of you can help me now. Fate gave me this war to fight before I was even born, and I swear on my life and magic that I will fight it until death - in the open, in defiance of any that serve Darkness."

Here Harry paused and his gaze slipped past the shocked looking Headmaster and into the uncertain future, as it had a way of doing at these times. All he could see were battles and blood on the horizon, no matter which way he looked at his choices, but then when had it ever been anything else? He would have been lost if it wasn't.

"And when all is said and done, ladies and gentlemen," Harry finished and met every eye in the room, "that is all I have to say. So pack away the tracking devices, cancel the guard, and stop telling me what to do... because I'll be keeping this world safe - I'll be doing the protecting from now on. It's my job, my purpose, my truth... what I was made for, and I don't ask you to understand that, but I am telling you to accept it."

*~*~*~*

Lord Voldemort felt the power of the storm clouds over London, felt the power in the beginnings of the storm demon. Before him, in the forest near Loch Leven, a silvery pool shone in the darkness as the water surged and bubbled, transformed and wrought itself around pure evil and malice.

The demon was taking form and it was time to add the hair from Potter's head. Voldemort did so and the icy water became freezing, the bubbling ceased and an eerie calm settled over the pool. Yet a presence could be felt now, the presence of a demon not felt for centuries in this world - not since the last elemental had died. The power inside the creation was complete.

"Who is your master?" Voldemort hissed, his hands still encased in flowing red power that burnt the eye.

Lord Voldemort, came a reply from the rising mist inside of Voldemort's head. He began to laugh. The monster before him was powerful enough to wreak havoc with the world's elements, with the weather itself. It would be interesting to see if Potter survived this one.

Voldemort had made a few modifications to the demon, of course, added his own touch on an old blood spell - made it stronger by fusing his own raw magic into its creation. No normal wizard would stand a chance against the storm demon.

"And who must you destroy?" the Dark Lord whispered into the empty night. There was not a living creature within a mile, as all animal life had fled from the evil they could feel emanating from Voldemort.

Darkslayer.

It was the right answer, and the roar of fury and anger, power and hate that emerged from the misty figure that was growing fast was unbelievable. Voldemort laughed into the night again - it had been worth sacrificing twelve vampires and twelve Death Eaters to bring this creature to life.

Massive storm clouds roiled over head and would soon stretch across the entire country and, if left unchecked, the world. There would be no dawn in the United Kingdom - there would never be a dawn again. And that suited Voldemort just fine - he would bring his demon army through a gateway into a terrified world of darkness, which they would destroy.

Forks of lightning swirled around the evil before the Dark Lord and were spat up into the clouds overhead. There was a great hissing and then the presence before him was gone, shooting up into its clouds, already strong enough to seek its target.

You made the first move, Potter, Voldemort whispered to himself in his dark, terrible mind. You made the first move when you destroyed half my vampires... well, now I have made my move. Who will win, I wonder, in the end? Will there be anyone left but ourselves to care? I hope not... if only to hear a billion voices scream in unison as you burn.

*~*~*~*