Disclaimer:I don't own Harry Potter, and it is the property of J.K. Rowling. I am borrowing her characters to create a story. The only thing that I own is the plot and any new characters.
All legends abide by one simple rule that has remained constant since the beginning of time: however ridiculous, however wondrous, however unbelievable, they have all grown from one tiny grain of truth.
He sighed. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he turned his face upward, eyes closed, and stood still. The seconds crept by, gathering into minutes, before the man finally dropped his face and opened his eyes. He glared dully at blade in front of him, frustrated by its' refusal to cooperate. More than a millennium had been spent looking for the sword, speculation over its powers and abilities growing greater and grander, and, finally, sitting in front of him, it was lain bare to the world. And now it glinted brightly in the light, winking at him with its shine and mocking his efforts.
Sighing again, he folded up the canvas surrounding the sword, securing the object within by tying a leather cord around it. He picked it up gently, and muttering a word, spun on his heel as a portion of the stone wall seamlessly slid back and to the right, allowing him access to the chamber within. Walking briskly, he reached the far end of what appeared to be a storage room, and laid the covered blade in the corner of the room. Turning around, his eyes slid over the contents of the room, most covered by a canvas sheet, although there were a few items that weren't covered completely. Nimbly stepping around an ornate golden chest, he ignored the promises for eternal life of a nearby cup and stayed well clear of a helmet that had shadows swirling around it. Without a backwards glance, he stepped through the threshold and the chamber sealed itself once more, covering in darkness the items within.