The Forging of the Bonds

Chapter 8. Swords and Sorcery.

The next morning, Elizabeth came down to breakfast late. She sat down next to Nadine and poured herself a large cup of coffee.

"We're going to lose this," she said. "Thanks to the infinite wisdom of the Goblet of Fire, Hogwarts will lose this tournament." She paused. "And I've got detention."

"For what?"

"Curfew violation. Thanks to Weasley."

"Huh?"

"He had a great idea for a place to avoid Filch. Too bad Potter knew about it."

"On the plus side, Gryffindor dropped from first to third in the house point tally. And we're only ten points behind Ravenclaw."

"How did that happen?" Nadine asked.

"Weasley," she replied. "Potter took a hundred points from him yesterday."

"A hundred? At once? Potter?"

"No. Fifty twice."

"I thought Potter was himself a Gryffindor."

"He was. But... I don't know. He doesn't favor them. And last night, he was very angry."

"Why do you talk to him so much?"

"It's interesting. Other teachers treat us like children. He doesn't. Yesterday, he told me that he believes there'll be another Dark Lord someday."

"Is he nuts?" Nadine demanded.

"No, I don't think so."

"Whatever. Be careful, Liz."

Elizabeth shook her head. "I'm more worried about Weasley than Potter," she said, smiling at her friend. "We have to serve detention together."

"Ouch," Nadine said.

The rest of Elizabeth's day was quite ordinary. They didn't have Defense, and none of her other classes were with Weasley. At eight o'clock, she headed towards Potter's classroom.

Weasley was already there. He glared at her.

"Your wands," Potter said. Both of them got their wands out. He took them.

He headed into his office. "Come in," he said. Both of them followed.

Potter's desk had several essays strewn about it, in addition to three picture frames. Elizabeth didn't see the pictures. Potter put the essays away, and locked the desk.

She and Weasley stood quietly. Elizabeth took a closer look. Several broomsticks hung on the walls. A large, full bookshelf stood in one corner of the office. Across from it was a tall cabinet. That's where Potter was heading now.

He unlocked the doors, which swung open. Elizabeth expected many things, but this wasn't one of them.

The closet--and the inside walls of the doors, as well--was full of swords.

Short, long, curved... with handles of all colors, shapes and materials. Elizabeth was certain all the swords were different. This must be worth a fortune, she thought. So Potter is a sword collector... I'd never think that, looking at him.

Weasley was less impressed. "Swords, sir?"

"Swords," Potter replied, stressing the word as if it had some deep meaning. He got out several tools and cans of supplies. "And you will be sharpening and polishing every single one of them."

"Oh," Elizabeth said. I thought it might be something like this.

"I'll be back at midnight to return your wands. And if I find any damage to my swords... well, it won't be pretty. None of these swords can be replaced, for any amount of money." With that, he left the room. The lock clicked.

Elizabeth looked at the wall. A lot of swords... not enough time.

"This is your fault, Weasley," she said. "'Hide in here', 'we'll be safe', 'Filch doesn't know'," she mocked.

"I was right about that last one, wasn't I? And no one made you follow me."

"Shut up, Weasley. Let's get this over with."

Elizabeth went to the cabinet and took out a long, curved sword with a black handle. It was a well-made scimitar of tempered steel. The handle has several emeralds in a gold band where the blade and handle met.

The sword needed to be sharpened. Elizabeth picked up a whetstone and started.

Fortunately, Potter's collection was well organized. Each sword had a number, and each stand inside the closet was marked with that number and a small picture of the sword. All they needed to do to keep track was to write down the numbers of swords that they finished working on on the blackboard.

Several hours passed in... well, not silence--sharpening swords by hand made a lot of noise--but without anything being said.

"Hey, Malfoy!" Weasley suddenly shouted.

"What?" she replied, annoyed at the distraction.

"Check this out." He handed her a broadsword with several large rubies in the handle. Down the blade, a row of letters were engraved on the sword. They were blocky, but still recognizable. Godric Gryffindor.

This was Gryffindor's sword! How did Potter come about it?

"Uhm... what number is it?"

"One."

If, as Elizabeth assumed, Potter numbered his swords in the order of acquisition, the collection began with this. Potter wasn't joking when he said they can't be replaced. At least in this case.

Elizabet stood up and tried a few swings. "Hey--" Wesley tried to stop her, but she continued.

"Hey, stop wasting time--"

Elizabeth kept going through the motions of a fencer's warm-up. This sword was a lot heavier than what she was used to.

"Hey, cut it out!" Weasley shouted, and grabbing a sword of his own, swung at her.

Elizabeth was struck by surprise, and Gryffindor's sword flew out of her hands. Weasley stood in front of her, holding a short, wide sword on a handle of black wood.

"Oh, you'll get it, Weasley," she said, and, instead of picking up Gryffindor's sword, ran to the cabinet and grabbed another. Then she rushed at Weasley.

He tried to block, but, having never fenced in his life, it was almost too simple to stop that. One skilled strike opened a small wound on his hand, causing him to drop the sword. Elizabeth pressed the blade to his neck.

"Hey--" he began. She moved the blade closer.

"Miss Malfoy, do you know how long it takes to get blood off a blade?" Professor Potter asked from the doorway.

Elizabeth pulled back. "Professor, she tried to kill me!" Weasley protested.

"Pick up that sword, Mr. Weasley," Potter said. He did so.

Potter, meanwhile, leaned down to pick up the sword of Gryffindor. He ran his finger across the blade.

"Which of you tried to fight with this one?" he asked.

"I did," Elizabeth admitted.

"What was it like?"

"The sword felt... heavy. And one hit from him, and I just couldn't hold it."

"As it should be..." Potter muttered.

"Why?" Elizabeth demanded. "Because I'm a Slytherin?"

"No, nothing like that," Potter replied. "You see, these swords... they have minds of their own."

"What nonsense," Weasley said.

"I might have expected that from a Muggle-born, but I'm surprised to hear it from you. Have you ever tried using someone else's wand?"

"Of course."

"What was that like?"

"Harder. Even the simple spells needed effort."

"Well, these swords are the same way. Their crafters imbued a certain personality to them. All of them can bond to one particular person, and not release that bond until the person's death. Sometimes they pass through many hands before finding that person."

"Even without such bonds, there are people swords like and don't like. And once bonded, a sword will resist any other user." He looked at Elizabeth. "You tried to use a bonded sword."

"Gryffindor's sword is bonded? To whom? Gryffindor has been dead--"

"For a thousand years. But a sword can find a new partner. This one did so at least twice. Currently," he said, "it is bonded to me."

"Now, let's see which swords chose you."

"You mean, which swords we chose?" Weasley corrected him.

"I meant what I said, Mr. Weasley. The swords chose you." He put Gryffindor's sword away and picked up the short weapon Weasley had used.

"What? Is it the sword of Slytherin, or something?" Elizabeth wanted to laugh. Keep dreaming, Weasley. She didn't even know if one existed.

"No," Potter said. "This is Charles Martell's sword used at Tours."

"What are you talking about?" Elizabeth said, confused.

"Oh. Here's a little lesson in Muggle history. During the Middle Ages, Spain was conquered by the Moors, and they were invading France. Charles Martell was a Muggle king who stopped them in a great battle in 732."

"This is a Muggle sword?" Weasley asked.

"It was made by a wizard," Potter replied. "It was meant to be used by a Muggle, so its magical properties are well-hidden. But they are there. This sword has bonded with Muggles, Muggle-borns, and half-bloods, but never with pureblood wizards. Do you want it?"

"Uhm..."

"Think about it, then get back. It'll be waiting for you." Potter placed the sword back into the closet. "Now, let's see yours."

Elizabeth handed him the sword. It was the long scimitar she first worked on.

"Ahh... did you know this sword was made by Salazar Slytherin?"

"What?"

"Yes. Interesting choice. I'll sell it to you for two sickles."

"Two sickles! Do you have any--"

"I am perfectly aware of the value. I don't care. The sword likes you. I'd give it away for free if it wasn't dangerous."

"Dangerous?"

"This sword has a long and bloody history. It was given by Salazar to a visiting Arab wizard as a parting gift. Years later, after Slytherin left Hogwarts, the two ran into each other, had a dispute, and the other wizard killed Salazar with this sword."

"This sword killed Salazar Slytherin?" Elizabeth asked, not willing to believe it.

"Good riddance," Weasley said.

"Really, Mr. Weasley?" Potter asked. "You think so?"

"I fit wasn't for Slytherin, we wouldn't have You-Know-Who."

"Nonsense. There are dark wizards everywhere--even where they've never heard of Hogwarts or Slytherin. For that matter, Muggles are quite capable of evil. How do you explain that?"

"There has never been a Muggle-born dark wizard."

"Sure there have. Andrew Seward."

"The American Death Eater? How did they--"

"Voldemort knew, and didn't care. He lied to the rest. He was a very skilled Occlumens, so he managed to hide it."

Seeing that Weasley didn't have an immediate counter, Potter turned back to her. "Back to your sword, Miss Malfoy. Since what happened to Slytherin, the sword had a curse on it. Frequently, when the sword changed hands, the previous owner eventually ended up getting killed by it. But,"--he lifted his finger-- "this happened only when the sword was given away as a gift. If it was sold, lost and found, captured, or stolen, the curse didn't work. So I will not give it away to you--but selling, even at a symbolic price, should be safe. If it becomes yours, don't give it away."

"And now, your detention is over," he said, handing them back their wands. "Goodnight, Mr. Weasley," he said as the Gryffindor left the office. "Do you have something else to say, Miss Malfoy?" he asked as he put the sword away and locked the cabinet.

"Sir? Who was the last person to receive that sword as a gift?"

Potter sighed. "Me."

"Did the curse work?"

Another sigh. "Unfortunately, it did. Goodnight, Miss Malfoy."

Elizabeth left. Without a doubt, Potter was the strangest man she'd ever met.