Chapter one: the cross

It was a week since Harry Potter had died.

The prophecy had been fulfilled, and he had been resurrected to fulfill his final purpose. He had done so, and now the lord Voldemort had been destroyed, never again to threaten the wizarding world. Some of the dark lord's shadows still existed, in the form of the few hundred Death Eaters unaccounted for, neither among the dead or imprisoned, but Voldemort had still been vanquished, and that was what was important.

And now Harry wasn't sure what to do with his life.

Much of it had been occupied with school, but now he was of age, and the prospect of returning to Hogwarts did not appeal to him. The castle simply held to many memories. Though he disliked admitting it, the war against Voldemort had been the other main part of his life. And now it was over. Harry had entertained thoughts about becoming an auror. It seemed he was as qualified as anyone, probably more so.

"Harry Potter."

It took Harry a few moments to realize that someone had spoken. He was standing in a remote corner of the grounds, his back against a tree. He was alone. It was late morning, and the still rising sun was reflected, multi-faceted, on the surface of the lake. It was warm, and he felt that he might have drifted off for a moment.

"Harry Potter," this time the voice was definite and real. Harry turned slowly, feeling for his wand. Surprisingly, it was a centaur. The centaurs had left their forest to join the battle against the Death Eaters, but they had returned quickly afterward, refusing to join the following celebrations. Harry was surprised that one would have left the forest on his own, apparently looking for him.

It was a younger centaur Harry did not recognize. He carried no weapons, and looked very worried, as if he shouldn't have been there. His horse potion was a light golden brown; the same color as his hair, and well built, while his torso was less muscled than most centaurs. His hair was long and wavy and he had a short beard.

"That would be me," said Harry, evenly.

"There are enemies in the forest," said the centaur. "Digging up that which has long since been hidden. You must stop them, Harry Potter. I will take you to them."

"Wait, you mean…"

"You must climb on my back. It will be quickest."

Harry knew that centaurs were, as a rule, very proud. To be asked for help by one, let alone offered a ride, was very rare indeed. Whatever was happening, it must have been a problem.

"Well, let's go," he said.

Harry had not ridden a centaur since he was eleven. It was nothing like flying, while on a broomstick, you were very much in charge. On a centaur, the centaur was completely dominant; Harry had no control, and was sure what would happen had he tried to seize any.

It was certainly fast. When the centaur came to a halt, Harry found himself in a part of the forest he had never been to before. The trees were sparser here, allowing light to penetrate, and the sense of darkness was lessened.

Before him was a dome of earth, a burial mound, he realized. Muffled noises came from inside, Harry looked questioningly at the centaur, whose name was Wrok.

"They are inside," said Wrok. "Disturbing the treasures of centaurs, stop them, Harry Potter."

Harry wished he had his invisibility cloak with him. But he didn't, so, steeling himself, he walked slowly up to the burial mound, and dropped through the hole at its peak.

Harry found himself on a ledge of roof stone, overlooking a deep bowl shaped room. There were five men below; none of them had noticed him.

The fifth was watching the other four dig, relocating the earth with their wands. He was sweating, wiping his bald forehead with a handkerchief. Harry didn't blame him; it was stifling inside the mound. He wore white Panama hat, as well as a white linen suit beneath a gray trench coat. It was easy to tell that the other men were working for him.

"Have you found anything?" he asked the leader of the men. Harry could tell this too; from they way the other laborers regarded him. He hadn't shaved for a time, brown stubble covered his cheeks, he wore boots, dirty jeans, and a faded leather jacket over a plain gray t-shirt. His personality was completed by the worn fedora atop his head.

"No," he answered bluntly.

"Than keep digging, what do you think I pay you for?"

"I've got something!" shouted one of the others. He was the youngest, only nineteen or twenty. The others clustered around, one was middle-aged, with a graying mustache, the other had lank dark hair and wore spectacles.

The young man produced his find. Harry gasped. Fedora glanced in his direction, a bemused look on his face, before turning back to the group.

It was a cross, made of gold and inset with rubies, about a foot long. The surface was inlaid with runes and pictures. It seemed to glow.

"Ah," said the man in the white suit. "The cross of Coronado. Given to him by Cortez in 1520. I have been searching for this all my life. Heaven knows how it came to be here. In a centaur's burial ground behind a school of magic."

Harry knew that he had to do something. He hardly knew a thing about these men, but he doubted that they should be here, or that the cross belonged to them.

And so, he did the first thing that came into his mind.

"Accio Cross!"

The cross flew from the man's grip. Harry caught it, no longer trying to stay out of view. Two of the men swore, all of them reached for their wands.

Harry pulled himself out of the burial mound, and sprinted to Wrok, vaulting onto the centaur back. Wrok saw the cross in Harry's grip, and the men spilling out of the mound, mounting brooms.

"Run," Harry whispered. And the centaur began to gallop.

A few spells sped past. But Harry, his arms wound tightly around Wrok's neck, was unable to return fire.

Brooms are, as rule, faster than centaurs, but this does not apply when navigating the forest. The trees began to thin, as they neared the edges of the forest. Harry looked back to see that all four of the diggers were following them, the man in the white suit nowhere to be seen.

Ahead, Harry glimpsed a plume of smoke stretching into the air. The Hogwarts express, returning to Hogsmeade station. Harry grinned.

"Make for the train," He shouted over the rushing wind. They were out of the forest know, Wrok hastened his pace, running for all he was worth. But the brooms began to gain.

As Wrok came parallel with the train, Harry saw Fedora remove his wand from his jacket, taking careful aim.

A few things happened very quickly. Fedora shouted something, the sound torn away by the wind. Harry jumped. A jet of light blasted Wrok of his hooves, the centaur was thrown into the side of the train. He rolled away unconscious.

Harry's fingers caught hold of a ladder built into the side of the train. He scrambled onto the roof of the train car. The air tore at him, ready to pull him off. Harry shoved the cross through his belt.

He watched the bespectacled man touch down ahead of him. Turning, Harry leapt. His jump carried him onto the next train car. He landed running; a spell whistled past his ear, he ducked.

Another man, the one with the mustache, appeared, facing him, two train cars away. He pulled out his wand, and sent a stunning spell in Harry's direction. Harry pulled out his own wand, but instead of uttering the counter-charm, he threw himself forward, and ducked down into the recess between the train cars.

Harry stumbled, watching the tracks blur past below. He grabbed the door and, wrenching it open, fell into the train car.

He ducked into a nearby compartment, just as the far door was blasted of its hinges. The mustached man entered the car, slowly making his way toward Harry.

Harry could have easily attacked, but instead he held his breath, pressing his back against the cool glass of the window. The cross was pressing into his side uncomfortably. Just as he was about to adjust it, the window shattered, sprinkling him with a fine powder of broken glass.

The bespectacled man swung in through the window, ramming his shoulder into Harry. Harry was sent reeling out into the corridor. Without thinking, Harry raised his wand and shouted:

"Bombardre!"

The spell hit the middle-aged man in the chest, hurling him to the end of the train car. The other man fired a curse at Harry, but Harry dodged to the side and skipped out the door. Pulling the door of the train car shut, he tapped the handle with his wand, sealing it closed.

Harry climbed back onto the roof of the train. A spell hit him in the back, between the shoulder blades, and he fell, his legs stuck together. Making sure the cross was still safe, he quickly whispered the counter-curse, ending the leg-locker jinx. But by then the young man was upon him, grabbing for the cross. Harry rolled to the side, out of reach.

Harry grabbed the young man's wrist, forcing his wand away. His opponent grabbed his wand also, but Harry twisted to the side, and kneed the man in the stomach. The young man tripped and fell back over the side of the car, but didn't go over, catching himself with his fingers.

A spell sped toward him, but Harry it knocked out of the way with a shield charm. Behind, the two men had escaped from the car Harry had sealed them in. Harry noticed that the middle-aged man wasn't quite on balance, and so he focused his attack. The jet of red light hit the mustached man in the shoulder, spinning him around. The man tumbled off the train.

The man with the glasses proved more of a challenge. Ahead, the train passed under a few long branches. Harry grabbed on, and was lifted into the air as the train speed away beneath him. He kicked out, catching the man in the chest, the bespectacled man was knocked back, and fell between the train cars.

Harry landed in a crouch on the last car.

"Well I'll be damned," said Fedora. "Harry Potter." His wand was pointing between Harry's eyes. "You'll give me the cross now. And I can tell the lads I've met you."

"It's not yours," said Harry, "It belongs to the Centaurs."

"Not anymore. So you can just hand it over and I might not kill you."

Harry made a grab for Fedora's wand, but the man jerked away. He grabbed Harry's collar, wrenching him off his feet. He made for the cross, but Harry knocked his hand away, and Fedora dropped him. Harry fell, and the roof below him gave way.

Harry fell through the skylight in a rain of glass. He found himself in a baggage car, now empty, save for a few neglected trunks in the corner. He made for them.

A moment later, Fedora entered through the door, he strode across the room to where he knew Harry must have been hiding. He blasted the trunks out of the way, and swore, finding nothing but dust. He ran to the window.

Fedora saw a tall bespectacled boy sprinting away along the train tracks, the cross of Coronado in his grip.

Two hours later, Harry sat in the headmistress's office back at Hogwarts. He had come straight there, given the cross to Minerva McGonagoll and explained what had happened. She had promised to return to him, and had gone to speak to the man in the white linen suit, who had been discovered on the grounds.

Though McGonagoll had recently taken over, the headmistress's office was still decorated in the style of its previous owner, the late Severous Snape. The walls still held the portraits of the previous headmasters, who were talking earnestly among themselves, but instead of the eccentric whizzing devices, it held selves filled with weird and disturbing specimens in jars, floating immersed in luminous green liquid.

"Mr. Potter."

"What. Oh, yes professor," Harry had not noticed McGonagoll enter the room.

"Well, I'm sorry"

"I don't understand professor."

"He had all the necessary papers, don't ask me how, but that dig was completely authorized. He promises not to press charges of assault and theft, mostly because you're who you are, honestly."

"You gave back the cross."

"I had too. Still, I can understand what you thought, and why you did what you did. You still preformed admirably, if that makes things any better. To tell you the truth, I'm surprised you haven't made a mistake like this before. You may go."

"Thank you professor." As Harry left, he felt himself feeling a bit disappointed. He had thought he was doing the right thing. But there was something deeper. After Voldemort, four washed-out excavators hadn't frightened him at all.

And, deep down, he had enjoyed himself. It was the first thing over the last few days that actually felt right. That and Ginny.